


two hands longing for each other's warmth

by viscrael



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viscrael/pseuds/viscrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My mom used to make it like this when I got sick or…wasn’t feeling very well. It helps with sore throats too.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	two hands longing for each other's warmth

**Author's Note:**

> i just rlly wanted fluff for these two. vaguely college au b/c theyre supposed to b in college but like it doesnt talk abt it so i didnt tag it as that *shrug*
> 
> title from "still" by daughter b/c i was listening to that while writing this even tho the lyrics rlly have nothing to do w/ the fic at all lmao

Kageyama’s gotten to the point where he literally doesn’t even knock anymore, and frankly, Hinata thinks it’s kind of annoying. He gave him an extra house key for emergencies and so that he could get in when Hinata is in class or busy or something, _not_ so that he doesn’t have to knock or give any fair warning beforehand anymore.

It’s especially annoying today, because Hinata had been planning to keep his sickness from Kageyama (mostly because he knew the other would worry way too much and get pissed off at his “inability to take care of himself.” Shouyou could take care of himself fine, thank you very much; it was Kenma’s fault for giving him whatever it was he had anyway). Instead, he gets a text message telling him he’s on his way over, like, two minutes before he just _waltzes_ right into the apartment like he owns the place. In the short time, Hinata was just barely able to make his surroundings presentable, shoving dirty tissues in the trash bin in his room and fixing the couch to make it look less like he’d been cocooned in several tons of blankets all day.

“A-plus knocking,” Hinata says, and then grimaces when he realizes just how pathetic and hoarse his voice is. Dead give away.

Sure enough, Kageyama narrows his eyes. “Are you sick?”

“Nah, just. Um. Talked too much yesterday.” Hinata tries for a reassuring smile, getting up from the couch to make himself seem a little more well than he actually is and heading to the small kitchenette. He opens the fridge and rummages around like he’s looking for something, even though he just ate a couple minutes ago and really isn’t hungry at all.

Behind him, he feels Kageyama cross his arms over his chest and set his bag on the isle counter. He must’ve just finished up at work. Hinata gets a carton of milk out. “You weren’t in class yesterday.”

Shit. He’d forgotten about that. “Yeah, um,” he chuckles, and it sounds weak even to him. “I slept in too late on accident.”

When he turns around and hands Kageyama a glass of milk, the taller’s expression doesn’t let up, his eyes narrowing at his friend like that’ll help him discern something. He takes the glass, their fingers brushing, and then immediately sets the glass on the counter and presses the back of his hand to Hinata’s cheek, suddenly much too close for comfort.

“Um,” Hinata says, and if his face wasn’t warm before it sure is now. Kageyama lets out a puff of air, not quite a sigh but not quite anything else either, before taking his hand away.

“You’re burning up,” he scolds, eyebrows furrowing, trying to look angry but Hinata knows him well enough to be able to tell the difference between his worried look and his angry look, and this is definitely the former. “Go sit down.”

“Why?” Hinata raises an eyebrow, and he’s half sure Kageyama’s cheeks are pinker than normal when he splutters, “Just listen to me, okay, I’m—I’m doing something!”

Giving him a look, the redhead obliges with a shrug, heading back to the living room and turning up the TV, which is still playing reruns of some cartoon he remembers loving back in middle school. Idly, he watches the episode, occasionally glancing back to the kitchen where his friend is digging around in his cabinets, looking for things and taking stuff out. He cranes his neck to see what the other’s doing but finds he’s blocked entirely by Kageyama’s back. He huffs and gives up after a moment, resigning to tucking himself back in his blanket cocoon.

Five or ten minutes later, Kageyama’s sitting down on the couch next to him, handing him a still steaming coffee mug. Hinata takes it gingerly, blowing on it to cool it down after asking, “What is it?”

“Tea,” he answers, and before Hinata can ask why it took so long if it was just tea, he adds, “My mom used to make it like this when I got sick or…wasn’t feeling very well. It helps with sore throats too.”

Shouyou blinks twice before smiling brightly. “Thank you,” he says, meaning it one hundred percent.

He finds satisfaction in the way Kageyama’s cheeks heat up and he looks away all too quickly, responding with a snappish, “Don’t burn your tongue, stupid.”

Hinata only laughs. “Don’t be such a mother duck, Bakageyama,” he teases, but he listens anyway, waiting for it to cool more before taking a sip. “This is really good!”

They sit and watch the cartoon in silence, Hinata finishing his tea quickly, and he admits his throat does feel a little better. Somewhere between the third and fourth episode they’ve watched, Hinata opens his blanket, successfully disrupting his cocoon, and offers a side to Kageyama. He gets in next to him like he’s reluctant, but the way he sinks into the redhead’s warmth and lets Hinata curl up to him tells a different story.

“Thanks.” His voice comes out in whisper, but he can’t tell just how much of that is because of his sickness and how much is because of the atmosphere between the two. It’s a comforting silence, and Hinata feels his eyes start to slip shut. He hadn’t slept well the night before, having stayed up coughing until five a.m., but with the weight of the boy next to him and the warmth both from Kageyama’s arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders and the blankets draped over the two, it’s easy to feel himself getting sleepier.

Right before he drifts off, he feels lips against his hair and hears a quiet, “You’re welcome.”


End file.
